Red Day's Rising
by Tathar
Summary: [Nonslash] Previously titled Marshal of the Mark. Theodred's last orchunt, from Eomer's perspective. 5.4.06: DROPPED. Please see userinfo for details.
1. Default Chapter

A/N: First let me just warn you that by starting a Roheric story, I'm going _way_ out of my usual 'comfort zone.' Perhaps it's a bad idea, but perhaps its about time I've expanded my horizons in the world of fan fiction! Marshal of the Mark 

**Chapter One**

Éomer walked out of the Halls of Meduseld, head bowed, shoulders slumped; not at all the proud, steady stride of a soldier. He stopped before beginning the descent down the stone stairs. He stared out over the land of Rohan, hearing the banners bearing the White Horse flapping in the cool breeze of late winter. His keen eyes, a pale silver-grey, scanned the distant mountains, gleaming a soft lavender in the sun, and then to the wide plains below them, golden and flat. No creature stirred on its wide expanse, as far as mortal eyes could see. Far above him, wheeling in the brilliant blue sky, an eagle called. The sound echoed across the land, haunting and almost foreboding.

The lone Rider of Rohan, Éomer, sister-son of King Théoden of the Mark, stood silent for some time, his eyes straining to see beyond the wide plains and distant mountains to the northwest. Thither was the Gap of Rohan and beyond that, the River Isen. And thither was he to ride today, with a large _éored and his cousin, Théodred, son of Théoden, at its head. _

A small gust of wind blew Éomer's golden hair, worn in the two thick braids down his back in the custom of the Rohirrim. The eagle called again, and then Éomer stirred, blinking as though awakening from a dream. He heard light footsteps behind him, and turning, he saw with joy his sister, Éowyn. 

Her streaming hair of pale gold blew about her face, and her long white skirts fluttered about her ankles as she walked slowly toward him. "Brother?" she said softly, not wishing to disturb his thoughts. Éomer smiled and embraced his sister lovingly. "Éowyn," he said. "It is well that you have found me! We ride in less than one hour. I feared I would not be able to say farewell." His sister gazed up at him, her eyes blue as the sky overhead, filled with love and also sorrow at the parting that must now come. Éowyn and her brother shared a deep bond, and were fiercely protective of one another. By now, Éowyn had become accustomed to Éomer's ridings with the Rohirrim, but it did not make the partings any less difficult.

"Your fears were unfounded," the Lady of the Mark said, speaking lightly to disguise the grief in her heart. "Do you not know by now that I shall always come to bid you farewell?" Éomer smiled wanly at his sister, and she lowered her eyes for a moment. "Éomer," she said presently, raising her eyes again to look into her brother's eyes. "I am uneasy. I know not why, but I have felt a sense of foreboding, of…" She paused, searching for the right words. "Of dread, ever since Théodred announced that he was to ride out to attack orcs on the Plains. Must you go with him?" 

Éomer smiled and tenderly ran his fingers, roughened from long years gripping the reins of a horse, down her cheek. "I must," he said softly. "But fear not for me, sister. I will be safe, and _your fears will prove unfounded." She chuckled slightly, but her eyes were still troubled. "Éowyn," Éomer continued, keeping his hand resting on her pale cheek. "I will return. I promise you." Éowyn smiled, and but one single tear made its way down her face. She was a shield-maiden, able to fight and wield a blade; but she was also mindful of her duties as Lady of the Mark. _

A horn sounded, breaking the still air. "I must go," said Éomer reluctantly. "Farewell, Éowyn." He embraced her again, burying his face in her golden hair, which smelled sweetly of lavender mingled with hay; she had been in the stables. "Farewell, Éomer," she returned, kissing her brother tenderly on the cheek. "Tell Théodred to be careful, and return safely." She smiled, reassuring herself as well as her brother that all would go well; that it was simply another ride.

"Farewell," Éomer repeated, and quickly descended down the stone steps, shoulders now straight, head held high. He hastened to the stables, where the other Rohirrim were readying their horses, and a stableboy led out his favorite horse, Goldenwind.

Goldenwind was a steed great and powerful, but swift and agile as a deer. His neck was proudly arched, and his golden coat shone in the sun. Saddlebags had been packed and fastened to the saddle, and Éomer swung himself nimbly into the saddle. The stableboy handed up his shield, bearing the White Horse of the Mark, and his long lance.

The stablehand's face was almost too delicate and fine to be a boy's; but it was smudged with dirt, and a few bruises showed on his high cheekbones and vaguely around his right eye. He had a quick temper and was often impulsive, which got him into many a fight with the other stablelads, who were envious of his friendship and high position with Éomer and Théodred.  

"Thank you, Teren," he said kindly to him. The lad looked up and brushed back the thick fair hair that fell over his forehead. "Will you not change your mind and consent to let me ride with you?" he asked hopefully, his pale blue eyes glimmering. 

Éomer shook his head regretfully. "I am sorry, Teren," he said sincerely. "But I cannot allow you to ride – not yet. You are but a lad of fifteen. Perhaps by this summer, you will be skilled and strong enough to ride, but not yet." Teren's face fell, but he knew better than to argue. He had been a stablehand for over five years, always having loved and admired horses. He had dreamed of becoming a Rider of the Mark, and battling with orcs. But he was ever told that he was too young for such things. He had begun seriously training little more than two years ago, and had shown a natural talent in wielding a blade. But still it was not enough.

"As you wish, my lord," Teren sighed, going back into the stables. Éomer watched with mingled regret, sympathy, and relief. He had been just like that at Teren's age, but he had come now to see that youthful impulsiveness and impatience in a battle could be deadly. Much as he hated to deny the lad, his favorite and most faithful stablehand, he could not risk his safety. 

A voice suddenly called out, breaking his thoughts. Théodred, seated on his prancing stallion, Wingfoot, was addressing the Rohirrim. "The orcs are pressing too close to the borders of Rohan," he said, his voice ringing clear and fearless through the stableyard. His grey eyes burned with hatred for the detestable creatures as he spoke their foul name, and his golden braids blew in the breeze. "We will ride now to the River Isen, where they are seeking to cross into Rohan. We will stop them there, at the Fords, or die in the attempt. Up, Eorlingas!" 

_Up Eorlingas! Up Eorlingas! The cry resounded through the stableyard as the Rohirrim raised their lances and shouted their support for their leader. Thédred was much like Faramir of Gondor: a leader of men and beast, able to command and lead his men without cruelty or haughtiness; but with genuine love and care for them. He was loved by all in Rohan for his kind ways. But as Éomer and Éowyn knew well, although he was slow to anger, when his wrath was aroused, woe to those who incur his ire! His youthful eagerness had not left him entirely, but he had curbed it, having learned patience many years ago. _

Éomer raised his lance and shouted heartily with the rest of the Rohirrim, and Goldenwind pranced beneath him, eager to be off. "Up Eorlingas!" cried Théodred for the final time. Then, turning his horse, he urged him into a gallop, and the Riders followed him. The Rohirrim came out of their homes to wave farewell, and soon, the Riders were out of sight past the gates. 

Éomer rode at the front beside Théodred. "I fear that the orcs are multiplying and growing stronger," he said as they rode out onto the flat Plains of Rohan. "I have heard that they have increased twofold in Ithilien, Gondor, and the far Eastern borders of Rohan." He looked up at his cousin. "What think you, Théodred? You seem grim, as though you are keeping something unpleasant from me." 

Théodred looked down at his cousin with a bright smile. His thick beard, darker gold than the rest of his hair, hid some of the lines of worry at the corners of his mouth. He was nearing forty-six now, but he did not look older than thirty. His grey eyes held the same depth and wisdom of his mother, Elfhild, but they had also a glint of cold fire in them. "You are perceptive," he said with a smile. "My heart is troubled. I had a dream last night of ill omen." 

Éomer drew his steed closer to Théodred, concern in his eyes. "Tell me of it." Théodred sighed. "Not now," he said. "I will tell you when we have made camp." Éomer nodded, puzzled by his cousin's obvious unwillingness to discuss his dream. It must have been evil indeed, to trouble him so. Théodred occasionally had dream-visions, although not many were evil. That was another way he was like Faramir of Gondor.

Young Faramir's face appeared in Éomer's mind and he smiled, full of fondness and a brotherly affection for the valiant Gondorian soldier. Rohan was closely united with Gondor, and Éomer had met – and fought beside – both sons of the Steward, Denethor. 

Boromir, the older one, was proud and willful, but certainly not without wisdom. He was very skilled with battle strategies, and a great leader of men. He was kind-hearted, and although life as a soldier had hardened him to some things, he cared deeply for his land. He enjoyed children immensely, which Éomer had always thought odd. That a battle-hardened soldier could be so gentle and loving to children, and yet never take a wife. He had not time for raising a family, and although any maid would have been honored to call him her husband, he did not marry.

Faramir, the younger, was wiser than his brother, although there was no rivalry between them. He loved books and studying, under the teachings of Mithrandir, the Grey Wanderer. He was passionate about many things, but war was not one of them. He was a good soldier, and one of the most courageous, but he detested bloodshed. Only to orcs did he show no mercy; when fighting against Men, he showed them the most kindness he could, careful not to harm a woman, child or elderly person, and treating the prisoners not too gently, but with compassion. He was a great leader, beloved of all in Gondor, and renowned for his brave deeds in battle, as was his brother.

Éomer had great respect for both Boromir and Faramir, and was proud when he fought alongside them. He wished that now the sons of Denethor were going on the orc-hunt with them – he longed for their pleasant companionship. Not that he did not have friends in the éored – indeed, he had many, for he was kind and well-liked – but Faramir's wisdom and humility, and Boromir's courage and strength were a comfort to all, and perhaps, had they been there, Faramir could have eased Théodred's mind.

'Ah, well,' Éomer thought, jerking himself out of his melancholy. 'They are not here, and we Rohirrim are on our own – one éored against the orcs. The odds are certainly in our favor; the orcs shall see what the Riders of Rohan are made of.

***

That evening, the Riders made camp on the plains. Théodred, though he participated in the merriment and fun, soon retired to his tent, where he stayed most of the night with his chief advisers and captains. 

As for Éomer, he had almost forgotten the melancholy of earlier that day, and even the thought of it he banished to the back of his mind. He sat around the large campfire beside his two closest companions, Éorlan and Thenan: two of the youngest Riders, only just turned twenty. They had proven themselves courageous and patient in battle – although they were known as the mischiefmakers to the men around camp. 

"Do you know, Éomer," said Thenan laughingly, his blue-grey eyes sparkling and a strand of his strangely dark golden hair blowing in the soft breeze. "Theno asked me yesterday about Halflings." Theno was his younger brother, an imaginative, playful lad of ten, not interested in the life of a soldier, but that of an artist. "He asked if they truly existed," Thenan continued, chuckling at the naïveté of his young brother. 

"Does he believe the old tales?" asked Éorlan, cocking his head slightly to one side curiously. His queer green eyes flickered in the firelight, which highlighted his fair, still beardless face, and turned his shoulder-length hair, not tied back in the customary braids of the Rohirrim, but allowed to hang loose, a pale gold. 

"Of course," replied Thenan with a dismissive laugh. "He believes all the old stories; about Lórien, and Halflings…everything."

"Quite the imaginative lad," Éomer chuckled. 

"Aye," Thenan agreed. "His head's always in the clouds. He actually told me not a week past that he saw a tree _move."_

There was laughter from the other men gathered around, and a tall, strongly built one called Haldred, said loudly, "He saw a tree _move, you say? The lad's not imaginative – he's gone mad."_

Thenan's eyes narrowed and his smile disappeared, although Haldred did not notice. Éomer and Éorlan did, however, and they also became silent. All three of them were fond of little Theno, even if he was a bit odd. He was sweet-natured and gentle, and very pleasant – not to mention interesting – company. 

"Theno's spendin' too much time around Captain Faramir and those Gondorians," Haldred continued. "Why, I heard that another one of them went into Lórien!"

"You should not listen to everything you hear," cautioned another man, named Léof. "That way, you will be able to judge between truth and falsehood." He looked around at the circle of men, holding their attention with his soft, but authorative voice. "As for myself, I would enjoy a trip to Lórien of the Blossom. Perhaps one day, I shall go there." 

There were startled murmurs from the gathered men, but Léof did not seem to notice their astonishment. He stared coolly at them with his deep grey eyes, the fire throwing shadows on his weather-beaten face. 

Éomer, Éorlan and Thenan respected Léof greatly, as did the other Riders. He was well traveled and a renowned soldier; and his soft, gentle speech and kind manner made him a respected captain. He had a wife, Eldreth, as well as two daughters, who were both married and raising families of their own. Through his long years as a soldier – and even for a time as a Ranger of Ithilien (for he had a little of Númenorian blood in him), he had learned wisdom, and his gaze was keen. He was uncommonly skilled at reading a man's heart and judging his character on first meetings.

Haldred and the other men were respectfully silent, and Léof lowered his stare. After a long moment, someone started a conversation again, and everything returned to normal. When they had finished their dinner, Éomer, Éorlan and Thenan stretched out on their bedrolls, hands clasped behind their heads, gazing up at the stars.

"When do you think we shall meet our first orc-troop?" asked Thenan as the camp became still and the first three soldiers began their watch. 

Éomer yawned. "I don't know," he replied. "Likely tomorrow. We're nearing the place where they were last sighted."

"I just hope they don't attack tonight," Éorlan commented, closing his eyes and beginning to drift off to sleep. "But I'm too tired to worry about that now. My watch is after this one, and your's is, too, Éomer. We had both get some sleep."

"Yes sir," Éomer grinned playfully. "I imagine you'll be waking me ten minutes early, as usual?"

"Of course. You take so long to fully wake up, we need at _least a ten minute start."_

"Ha," Thenan laughed. "My watch is the fourth. I get to sleep in!"

"Oh no, you don't," Éorlan teased. "We're waking you up with us, right, Éomer?"

"But of course. Poor Thenan couldn't sleep without us, now could he?"

Thenan growled playfully and gave Éomer a clout with his pillow. "Well then," he retorted. "I'll see to it that you two stay up with me on _my watch."_

Éomer laughed. "Oh no, you won't. After my watch, not even a stampede of wild horses could wake me up until morning."

Éorlan yawned and nodded. "Aye, Thenan, he's right. He sleeps like a stone after his watch."

"If I yawn much more, I shall split at the ears," Éomer commented. "I'm going to sleep."

"Good idea," Thenan agreed. Éorlan nodded silently, already mostly asleep. Thenan quickly joined him, and the last thing Éomer saw, before sleep took him, was a slim, small figure, sitting alone at the edge of the campfire, watching him silently. But then, his eyes closed, and he drifted into strange dreams of Lórien, Elves, and…Halflings.

****

**~Tbc~**

**A/N: So, how did I do? Should I retreat back to my hobbit stories, or keep going? I have no clear outline for where I want this story to go, but I think that I've about 5 chapters planned, more or less. **


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: Soledad, thanks so much for your review! Sorry this took so long to get up – I've been sidetracked with my other stories and nearly – _NEARLY – lost interest in this one. But don't worry, even if it takes me a while, I will continue this. Just don't send your pet Balrog after me! ; D Chapter Two _

"Our scouts have reported that the orcs are positioned at the Fords of Isen," Théodred announced the next morning as the Rohirrim prepared to ride. "They have grown immensely since our last attack, and among them are many who are able to travel in daylight."

There was a murmur of disgust and surprise among the men, and Éomer spoke up. "Think you that we are enough against so many orcs?"

"No," said Théodred, to the shock of all. "We are but little over a score of men. The numbers of orcs given to us by the scouts was more than one hundred." He paused for a moment, taking in the crestfallen expressions of the Riders. "But I have sent a messenger to Edoras," he continued, with the faint hint of a smile. "I have requested that at least two more éoreds to come aid us here."

"If Gríma Wormtongue even delivers the message to the King," Éomer muttered disgustedly. 

Théodred ignored him and continued. "Meanwhile, we shall approach the Fords and wait for the reinforcement there. If the orcs attack us, I do not think it will be with great force. Move out!"

The Riders swung up in their saddles and rode across the Plains at a canter, alert for any orcs waiting in ambush. That afternoon, they were within site of the Fords, and there Théodred called a halt in a place that was sheltered by a few trees and shrubs.

"We will wait here for the reinforcement," he announced. "I have sent our fastest messenger; they should be here by the morrow."

The Rohirrim made camp and a small group went out on foot to scout ahead. Among them were Éomer and Thenan. They led the group, which crept soundlessly through the tall golden grass of the Plains toward the Fords. They could hear them flowing loudly, and the ground became wet and muddy. 

"Let us scout further along this side of the bank," said Éomer quietly, and still staying low, the group followed him through the grass. They could hear an eagle call high up above them, but then another sound came to their ears. A loud, grunting, growling sound, as though of many voices speaking in a harsh, guttural tongue. 

"Orcs," Thenan hissed. Éomer raised his head slightly above the grass, and he saw a group of about two-dozen of the loathsome creatures camped on the opposite bank, feasting on some sort of unknown animal. Most of them were the wiry, bow-legged orcs that plagued Rohan and Gondor unceasingly, but a few of them were tall, taller than a Man or Elf, and strongly built. 

Éomer ducked down and turned to his companions. "There are little more than a score of them," he whispered. "But some are tall and strongly built – they must be a type of Mordor Uruk."

"Let us attack them," a Rider called Éothain suggested eagerly. "We are well-hidden and carry bows; we could defeat them!"

"No, Éothain," Éomer disagreed. "We have not Théodred's permission – and with Uruks among them, who could say what the end would be? No. Let us report back to Théodred. You may ask his permission to attack them if you wish. Come!"

He turned and they followed him again, keeping low in the grass. When they reached the camp, the men there were sitting down, eating their supper of salted meats and cold biscuits. Éomer approached Théodred, who was standing alone at the edge of the clearing, staring at the Ford but not seeing it with his eyes.

"Théodred," said Éomer softly, putting a hand on his kinsman's shoulder. Théodred started and turned; and then smiled, seeing him, and said, "You have returned. I could not see you from here, and I was beginning to be concerned for you."

"We are fine, Théodred," Éomer said with a smile. "But we did find an orc-camp, across the Fords. There seem to be some type of Uruks there among them."

Théodred frowned and shook his head. "I feared as much. It is well that you did not try to fight them!"

"Éothain wished to, but I would not permit him to do so without your consent."

"That was wise," said Théodred, draping an arm around his cousin's shoulders. "Until the reinforcements arrive, we can do nothing but watch and wait – although we may occasionally skirmish with orcs that get too close."

They were silent for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the men behind them, and letting the light breeze cool their faces. But after a while, Éomer spoke. "Will you not now speak of your dream to me, Théodred?" he asked. 

Théodred sighed, and then turned to his cousin with a gentle smile. "Yes, Éomer," he said. "Yes, I will speak of it now, for it is heavy upon my heart."

"Perhaps it will help you relieve your burden by sharing it aloud," Éomer suggested as they sat down apart from the other men. 

"Perhaps," Théodred said quietly, and then fell silent for a while. Éomer began to think that he was not going to speak of his dream at all, but then suddenly, his cousin said, "It is an evil dream, as I told you, and I know not how to tell you of it, for I do not wish to fill your heart with dread."

"Tell me," Éomer urged, taking Théodred's gloved hand and pressing it encouragingly. His cousin smiled wanly, and then began.

"I was riding with an éored," he said slowly, keeping his voice low so that the other men could not hear. "And we were out hunting orcs, as we are now. We met a large force, and Uruks were among them, tall and menacing. No matter how many we slew, there were always more to replace them…they seemed to be endless.

"At last, I called a retreat, and we escaped from them. A great golden eagle alighted on the ground before me when we stopped. 'You must send for Hope,' the eagle said. 'Hope! Send for Hope!' It spread its wings and flew over us in circles, crying, 'Hope! Hope!' But then it landed again on the ground and when it looked up at me, tears shone in its eyes. 'But alas,' it said. 'Hope will not come. Not yet. And doom is near.' And then it flew up again, and disappeared from sight."

Théodred fell silent. "Was that all?" asked Éomer quietly.

"No," answered Théodred with a heavy sigh. "There was darkness for a moment, and then it seemed that I saw something gold, glimmering like the sun. As I neared, I saw that it was a Ring." He saw Éomer's look of surprise, and smiled slightly. "Yes," he said with a nod. "It was a ring, hanging on a fine silver chain. Then the vision cleared, and I saw that the chain was hanging around a…a child's neck."

"A _child?" Éomer asked incredulously._

"Aye, a…child," answered Théodred slowly, as though trying to make sense of his own words. "At least, I believe that it was a child."

"What do you mean?" Éomer pressed.

"Well, it was a small person – a boy, it seemed, but not so. His hair was curling and dark like a Gondorian, but his face was pale and his eyes were blue." He paused for a moment. "They were strange, his eyes. They almost did not seem _alive – they seemed plagued by pain and…I don't know, guilt perhaps. But the strangest thing about this…boy, was that his face was that of a young man, perhaps twenty years of age."_

"But he was the size of a boy?" Éomer asked, puzzled.

"Yes." Théodred, too was confused. Éomer's eyes suddenly widened. "You do not think that it could have been a _Halfling, do you?"_

"I do not know," Théodred answered evasively. "But do you remember the dreams that Boromir spoke of before he left in search of that place called Rivendell?"

"Only part," Éomer replied.

"_'…Isildur's bane shall waken, and the Halfling forth shall stand,'" quoted Théodred. "Even I, who am not learned in the lore of Gondor, remember that Isildur took the Enemy's Ring in the Battle of the Last Alliance."_

"But I thought it was lost –" 

"As did I. But consider: a Halfling, bearing a golden ring on a chain, and the eagle's words that doom was near. I tell you, cousin, that I am beginning to think that those old tales we have heard as children were not merely 'old wives' tales' after all." He looked at Éomer, who was silent, trying to understand the puzzling words of his cousin. 

"But I beg you, do not tell anyone else of this, lest it dishearten them," Théodred said urgently. "It is not wise to speak of doom when waiting for a battle to begin." He began to stand up, but Éomer suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

"Do you believe that this is _your doom?" Éomer asked, eyes wide and fearful. "That this is to be your last orc-hunt? You did not say so, but you seem to be alluding to it."_

Théodred smiled gently. "I do not know," he said softly. "It may be so. But do not lose heart, Éomer. I could be wrong." With that, he stood and walked away to join the rest of the men, leaving Éomer alone to ponder his disturbing words.

***

The next morning, Théodred sent scouts out to look for reinforcement from Edoras. They returned, reporting that they could see no one coming. Théodred's face fell slightly, but he recovered himself before turning to the men, who watched anxiously.

"They are not coming yet," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "But I've no doubt that they will be here shortly."

The men sat or stood around the clearing, dismayed at not only the scouts' report, but also the lack of excitement. Men who are used to riding forth into battles and skirmishes become quickly bored when they ride out and are forced to wait and do nothing.

"Why are you so silent today, Éomer?" asked Thenan as he, Éorlan and Éomer whittled small pieces of wood. "Surely it cannot be only from the scouts' news."

Éomer sighed. "You are perceptive, Thenan," he said with a wry smile. "The scouts' report is not all that is troubling me. But I am not permitted to speak of it."

Thenan and Éorlan exchanged a puzzled glance. "Does it concern Théodred?" asked Éorlan quietly. 

"Yes. But how did you know?"

Éorlan smiled and patted his friend's shoulder. "Your melancholy expression seems to worsen when you are around him, for one thing," he said. "And for another, I saw you and Théodred talking together last night, and you have been depressed ever since."

Éomer managed a small laugh. "You are perceptive, as well, Éorlan!"

"It is my job," Éorlan replied with a grin. "You would get into trouble within five minutes if it weren't for Thenan and I looking after you," he teased. 

"I beg your pardon?" Éomer exclaimed with feigned indignance. "I do not know what you speak of. I can take care of myself."

"You delude yourself," said Thenan playfully. "Do you not remember the time you broke your arm in that battle last summer, and Éorlan and I had to protect you because you were utterly unable to help yourself?"

"Or when your horse threw you two years ago when we had that little skirmish with orcs in the East Emnet?" put in Éorlan. "If Thenan and Éothain and I hadn't formed a circle around you and protected you while you got back on, you would've been killed."

"Or…" began Thenan, but Éomer put up his hands in defense. "All right, all right!" he laughed. "So you look after me – at times. I take your point. And I thank you for your friendship."

Thenan clapped him on the back. "Think nothing of it," he said lightly. "You would do the same for us." Éorlan nodded and Éomer smiled, grateful for such friends as these, who would risk their own lives for him. 

But Éorlan neatly changed the subject, and soon, Éomer was as merry as the others, forgetting, for a while, his troubles. They talked and joked until afternoon, and then the men began to grow bored again, and quieted. 

Éomer softly began to sing to himself a song of old, telling of Eorl the Young's riding from the north on his wing-footed steed, Felaróf, the father of horses. 

"_'Where now is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?_

_Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?_

_Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?_

_Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?_

_They have passed like rain on the mountain, like wind in the meadow;_

_The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow._

_Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,_

_Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?'"_

He stopped, realizing that his voice had risen during the song and the other men were listening. "That is one of my favorite songs," said Léof quietly. "Though it is not very encouraging."

Éomer smiled slightly. "No, it is not. I did not even realize I was singing it aloud…" His words were suddenly cut off by a loud cry from a returning scout.

"Orcs, my lord Théodred! Orcs are coming!"

Théodred jumped to his feet. "How many?" he asked quickly. "And how far are they?"

"Not far, my lord," the scout replied breathlessly. "They are nearly to the Fords, and they seem intent on crossing it. There are…over five and thirty, as near as we could count – including some Uruks."

Théodred cursed under his breath and turned to the men. "Make ready for battle, Riders of the Mark!" he cried. "The orcs should reach us within twenty minutes. Gather your weapons and don your armor, and then mount up! for we shall meet them when they cross the Fords!"

Quickly the men obeyed, putting on their helmets and grabbing their spears (as they had not removed their mail-shirts, nor their swords), before springing onto their horses' backs. Éomer had not the time to think or to worry, for hardly had they mounted, when they heard the sounds of many heavy, marching feet, harsh loud voices, and splashing. The orcs had reached the Fords.

****

**A/N: Cliffie – muahaha! I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible!**


	3. Chater Three

A/N: I'm going to have to label this AU—I did not know until today that Unfinished Tales told of the First Battle of the Fords of Isen, and it says that Éomer was not even present; also that Théodred had a much larger army with him. Please forgive me for my error! :-) Chapter Three 

Éomer did not have time to think as he rode swiftly behind Théodred to meet the on-coming orcs, which were now halfway across the Fords, and spotting the approaching Riders, raised an unearthly howling and screeching as they broke into a lumbering run.

Vaguely, Éomer felt Thenan and Éorlan's presence on either side of him, and strong Léof behind him; but the words of Théodred from the night before rang persistently in his mind, and they frightened him more than the looming orcs. 

Suddenly, from the Riders in the rear of the éored, there rose a cry: that a large group of Men, it seemed, were coming swiftly behind them. _The reinforcements! At last, they have come! A wild hope sprang up in Éomer's heart, and ignoring the fact that Théodred did not even look back to see for himself, he reined his horse into a trot and turned around in the saddle._

Behind them, so distant that they were only a smudge of black against the gold of the Plains, Éomer could see, faintly, the glimmer of sunlight against metal shields and swords; and as he halted and watched as the group neared, unaware of Thenan and Éorlan stopping beside him, Éomer suddenly felt a chill of fear pierce his heart. For sound carries great distances over the open Plains, and he now could hear the harsh, raucous voices: not of Men, but of yet more orcs!

Sucking in his breath sharply, and hearing Thenan and Éorlan doing the same, Éomer spurred his horse back the front of the éored to ride again beside Théodred. "They are not Men behind us!" he cried over the whistle of the wind as they galloped toward the Fords. "They are orcs! More orcs!"

Théodred turned to look at his cousin with an expression so full of understanding and acceptance, that Éomer felt the blood leave his face and his hands grow numb where they held the reins. 

"I know," said Théodred simply, quietly. "No help has come, and doom is near." Before he turned away to gaze ahead once more, Éomer, speechless with fear as he had not been ever before, saw that tears glistened in his eyes. The sounds of the approaching orcs from the Fords grew louder, and at last they could see the full strength of their enemy before them.

As Théodred drew his sword along with the other Riders, he cried, in a loud, strong voice without hint of fear, words unknown to the others.

"_Out of doubt, out of dark to the day's rising_

_I came singing in the sun, sword unsheathing._

_To hope's end I rode and to heart's breaking:_

_Now for wrath, now for ruin and a red nightfall!_

"Up Eorlingas!" he ended, raising his sword. In that moment, he appeared tall, fearless and proud, like Éorl of old, going willingly to death. 

_Up Eorlingas! Up Eorlingas! arose the shout from the Riders, just as they had in the courtyard on the day of their departure; now riding fearlessly towards certain death. _

The Riders now saw the orc-troop running at full speed towards them, weapons drawn, and heard the sound of the orcs behind nearing. Glancing around him, Éomer saw clearly, as though everything had slowed, the faces of each man in the éored. Thenan and Éorlan, now bereft of their usual impetuosity and youthful merriment, looked more like the courageous soldiers they were at heart than Éomer had seen before. Léof had that same frightening look of acceptance that Théodred wore; impulsive Éothain's face was grim and set, and gruff Haldred had a look of stoic determination. Doughty Grimbold, one of the chief captains, was gazing calmly around them with his bright blue eyes, and sped forward to speak to Théodred, too quietly for Éomer to hear what was said.

Théodred nodded toward Grimbold, who looked back at the other Riders with his sword raised. "To me, ten of you!" he shouted. "We must split and my troop turn west while those under Théodred turn east."

Ten men quickly turned their horses and with a salute for the other Riders, they followed Grimbold, turning west to meet one of the regimans of orcs that had split upon seeing them and were hastening towards them.

"Up Eorlingas!" cried Théodred once more, and with a fierce cry, the remaining Rohirrim soldiers set upon their enemy. 

The orcs howled with delight as they saw the other army behind the éored, and the leading Uruks raised their broad swords and tall spears as they increased their speed, coming towards their enemy almost faster than the Rohirrim horses.

Without looking back, those in the éored knew that the orcs behind them were nearing as well, but they remained focussed on their adversary before them. Éomer raised his sword high, and the sun's rays glinted off the sharp silver point of the weapon. He marveled, for a moment, that a tool only designed for death could look so beautiful.

But then the first of the Uruks reached them, and instead of attacking Théodred, it lunged at Éomer, perhaps seeing that he was younger and had less experience than the leader. With a horrendous snarl, and what Éomer thought with disgusted horror seemed to be a malicious leer, it reached up with one powerful arm to catch its quarry by the waist and pull him from the saddle, while raising its sword with the other.

Fortunately, Éomer's reflexes were quick, and just as the Uruk's arm tightened around him, he brought down his sword with a mighty blow, and hewed the limb off. With disgust, he pulled the limp arm off and threw it down; and then quickly raised his sword to block a powerful blow from the Uruk. It did not seem effected by the loss of its arm, but the cruel smirk it had worn before had vanished. Its expression was filled with absolute hate and lust for blood. 

Éomer strove to bring his sword down again, but every time, the Uruk blocked it was a heavy returning blow that sent jarring pain up the young Rider's arm. Both were persistent, and determined that only one would survive the battle.

Dimly, Éomer heard the sounds of battle around him—the two orc armies had joined now, and the Riders were completely sorrounded. He heard cries of pain, and the shrill screams of horses. He heard the snarls and howls of orcs, the clash of steel upon steel, and the splintering of wood as spears were broken. 

But his entire mind was concentrated on overcoming his enemy, and he could not think of anything else. The Uruk was cunning, not like the dim-witted orcs, and it seem to anticipate his every move. 

Suddenly, a screech was heard close to his ear, and he had only time to look up before he was thrown out of the saddle and to the ground—an orc on top of him. His spear snapped, but he still held his sword. 

Recovering from his winded state, he managed to raise his weapon in time to meet the orc's blade and turn it aside before it was driven into his throat. The orc hissed, its yellow eyes bright with fury, and attempted to pin his sword-arm to the ground with one clawed hand. 

After a fierce struggle, Éomer succeeded in overcoming his enemy and ran his blade through it. Rising, he was almost immediately engaged in a furious battle with the one-armed Uruk again. He at last hewed off the head of the vile creature, and then wearily raised his head to look about him. 

The battle was a mass of orcs, men and horses. The men were all but smothered by the foul legions of Mordor, and only their golden hair, shining in the afternoon sunlight, was visible. Éomer saw the bright coat of Goldenwind amongst the fray, and the faithful horse whinnied loudly as it fought to return to its master.

Quickly overcoming another bow-legged orc that attacked him, Éomer made his way to Goldenwind's side. The horse's flanks were damp with black blood, as were his hooves—obviously Goldenwind had been fighting just as fiercely as any soldier.

Swiftly springing into the saddle, Éomer saw from his new vantagepoint that a Rider—it appeared to be Thenan—had lost his horse and was cut off from the others, surrounded by orcs. 

Éomer spurred Goldenwind forward to Thenan's aid, and used his sword to cut a path through the ring of orcs. Thenan's countenance brightened as he saw his friend, though he did not pause in his fighting. His dark golden hair had come out of its braids and was matted with blood on one side of his head, and his right arm hung useless at his side. Fortunately, he fought with his left; but bereft of one arm, he could make no use of his shield. 

Seeing this, Éomer urged Goldenwind forward to protect Thenan's exposed right side. After that, everything became a blur once more as he fought furiously to make headway through the army of orcs.

Éomer glanced up briefly and saw with dismay that the Rohirrim were scattered, alone or in small groups, all fighting to reunite. Grimbold's troop had joined with Théodred's, but it did little to help them. The enemies had also seen this, and were determined to keep the Riders seperated.

At last, there was a brief respite as Thenan killed a great Uruk leader, causing the orcs to fall back slightly. Éomer seized the opportunity. "Come, Thenan!" he cried. "Get up behind me, and we will go aid Haldred!"

Thenan swung up into the saddle, without his usual nimbleness because of his injury. Quickly, Éomer urged Goldenwind forward, but the stallion was already fighting madly through the orcs; trampling them beneath his hooves and rearing up to kick them.

They reached Haldred, who had found another Rider named Éon, and the four formed a circle, using their two horses as shields. Éon's horse fell after a few minutes, struck down by an orc arrow. 

Suddenly the deadly arrows were flying everywhere, and Éomer felt one pass so close to his face that it blew his hair. He heard the scream of another horse as it was struck, and then a long wail of an injured Rider who suffered the same fate.

But Goldenwind, though bleeding from several wounds, somehow avoided the arrows, and from his high vantagepoint, Éomer could see that no more than fifteen golden heads were still visible—the Mark was suffering heavy losses already.

Then a sharp pain in his right shoulder made him look down—into the face of a wiry orc. It was clinging to Goldenwind's side and gripped Éomer's shoulder with one strong hand. The claws pricked through the chainmail and into the skin, and scarlet blood began to trickle down the Rider's arm.

Before even his swift reflexes could react, the orc tore him out of the saddle and pushed him to the ground. Éomer managed to bring his sword up with a desperate blow, and succeeded in breaking the orc's already weakened weapon. The beast snarled and wrenched the blade out of his hand, twisting Éomer's wrist in the process. He saw his sword go spinning beneath Goldenwind's hooves and looked up in despair. He struggled to escape, but the orc's clawed hand gripped all the harder, and felt as though it was cutting right to the bone. 

With a hiss of delight, the orc let go of Éomer's shoulder and transferred its bloodstained hand to the young soldier's throat. Éomer brought both hands up in an attempt to pry the strong fingers off, but the orc merely used its free hand to grab both of the Rider's wrists and pin his arms above his head as it tightened its grip on his throat.

Éomer choked and coughed, his chest pumping uselessly for air, and stars began to appear in his vision. He felt warm blood trickling down his neck from the orc's claws, but he did not feel the pain of it. His wrist no longer hurt, nor did his shoulder. He seemed detached from his body, as though he was watching the events from far away.

A peace settled over him, and as if through a blackening mist he saw, past the orc's head, Goldenwind, with Thenan upon his back, rearing up and furiously beating down the orcs in his path with his sharp hooves, struggling frantically to reach his master.

_Strange,__ Éomer thought hazily, as he felt himself drifting away, __that I thought this would be Théodred__'s__ last orc-__hunt, and it turns out to be mine. Where is Théodred?__ I wonder if he still lives. _

Éomer's hands went limp in the orc's grasp, and just before darkness overcame his vision, he raised his eyes to the blue sky above and saw something. _A golden eagle! Just as Théodred__'s__ dream foretold. And now it has come true. Doom is near, but I shall have to fight it no more._

But suddenly, the hard hands were loosened, and the mist lifted. Instead of the orc's leering face, Éomer's eyes slowly focussed on the golden-haired face of Thenan. His friend's blue-grey eyes were filled with tears, and his bleeding lips trembled. 

_I have never seen Thenan weep, Éomer thought with surprise, his mind still hazy. __What is wrong__?___

"Th…Thenan?" he gasped, after a moment, taking in a large gulp of air and savoring it. His voice sounded hoarse, and he coughed, then grimaced at the pain that it caused his neck.

Thenan's eyes widened and his face broke into a hopeful smile. "Éomer?" he asked, half fearfully. "Are you all right?"

Éomer swallowed slowly and took another blessed breath of air. "I am fine," he answered. "Please…Help me up."

Thenan gently did so, and helped Éomer lean against him as the young Rider found that his legs would not support him at first. "What happened?" he asked quietly, looking around and finding that the battle had shifted away from them.

"An orc nearly strangled you," Thenan told him, "and after I overcame it, I rushed over to you. Your hands were already cold and neither your heartbeat nor your breathing could I find." He shuddered, and tightened his arm around Éomer. "But there is no time for lengthy explanations—tell me truthfully: are you able to go back?"

Éomer closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, he found that they were clearer. "Of course I am," he replied firmly. "I must help Théodred."

Thenan nodded without speaking and they helped each other in mounting Goldenwind, whose sleek coat bore new wounds. With Éomer sitting in front, they rode back into the fray, praying that the other Riders still lived.

****

**~TBC~**

**A/N: I apologize for taking so long to get this back up, but I was stuck for a long while. I hope it does not sound forced—I had to review my earlier chapters and get re-aquainted with the characters! :-) But I have already begun the next chapter, so hopefully—_hopefully—that will be up soon. Thank you all for your encouraging reviews!_**


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

** **

"Retreat! Retreat, Eorlingas!"

Éomer looked up at the sound of Théodred's great voice. His kinsman was still on his tall stallion, Wingfoot, and trying to lead the Riders safely away. He had seen as well as Éomer had that they could not possibly hope to break through the masses of orcs that surrounded them.

Behind him on Goldenwind, Thenan stiffened. The young soldier always hated retreating from battle—but surely he saw this time that it was the only way that any of them could hope to escape alive.

Urging Goldenwind forward, the doughty horse fought his way through the orcs and Uruks, unmindful of his own injuries. They at last reached Théodred, who had managed to bring several surviving Riders together with him. Éorlan, Grimbold and Éothain were among them, but strong Haldred and wise Leóf were not to be seen.

"Come, Riders of the Mark," Théodred called to those gathering around him. "We must retreat!"

Suddenly there was an unearthly howling around them, and even courageous Goldenwind reared and whinnied in fright. The fearsome wolfriders were among them—orcs riding on the backs of the wild Wargs of the north!

Théodred raised his sword, black with orc blood, and ordered them all to retreat swiftly—they could not longer wait for those fighting to return to them, now that the wolfriders were here and slaying all Riderless horses.

Éomer turned back to look at those they were forced to leave behind—and his heart stopped for a moment as he spied a small, slight figure on horseback, surrounded and valiently fighting the orcs. 

"Teren!" he cried, and heard Thenan gasp. Without a second thought, he turned Goldenwind back and urged him towards the courageous but outnumbered youth. As they neared, they could see that Teren was bleeding from a gash in his forehead, and the hardened leather jerkin that he wore as his only armor had been split on his right side; it was covered in blood.

Even as they reached him, Teren swayed in the saddle, and fell forward onto his horse, Greatheart's neck. His blood-stained sword slipped uselessly from his limp fingers. 

Before the orcs could press in and tear the boy from the saddle, Thenan sprang from Goldenwind's back and quickly swung up onto Greatheart, as agilely as if he were not injured at all. He wrapped his good arm partially around Teren's waist, and grabbed the reins before they slipped down Greatheart's neck.

"Ride back!" Éomer shouted at them, cleaving the helm of an orc that attempted to grab Thenan and Teren. "Get him safely to Théodred!"

Thenan urged Greatheart forward, and the powerful black stallion fought his way through the mass. But Thenan looked back in grief at Éomer, surrounded by the hordes of orcs, loathe to leave his friend behind in danger. 

A small groan from Teren made him tighten his grip on the reins and urge Greatheart forward again, using all his discipline as a soldier to keep from turning back. He reached Théodred's men with difficulty; they had cleared most of the orc mass, but several companies of Uruks and wolfriders were close behind them.

"My lord Théodred!" Thenan cried, riding up to him. "Teren is grievously wounded!"

Théodred slowed and looked down at the unconcsious boy in Thenan's one-armed grip. "How came he here?" he asked sorrowfully. But without waiting for an answer, he motioned for Éothain to come beside them as he sped up again.

"Take Teren," Théodred commanded quickly. "Thenan, you are wounded as well—you cannot hope to defend yourself and the boy with only one arm."

Thenan obeyed and he managed to skillfully pass Teren to Éothain, who wrapped one strong arm around the boy and pulled him upright. Without waiting for orders from Théodred, Thenan turned and headed back toward the battle—praying that Éomer still lived.

Éorlan turned, too, seeing the sister-son of Théoden left behind, and caught up with Thenan as they galloped back toward battle. Several wolfriders, seeing them do so, split from their group and headed toward them. 

They strove to outrun the wolfriders and make it back to Éomer, but the wargs were swift and not tired, as their horses were. Éorlan turned his horse, Brego, and acted as a shield for Thenan, whose sword had been broken and had nothing left but a dagger. 

The wargs howled visciously and sprang upon Brego. The wiry bay horse twisted and managed to kick one of the wargs in the jaw, momentarily halting it. But there were two others, and they took positions both in front of the horse and behind, so that no matter which way Brego turned, there was no escape.

Then Thenan joined again, brandishing his long dagger of sharp bone, and Greatheart reared up above the warg positioned at Brego's head. Before the wolf had time to react, the powerful horse's sharp hooves were crashing down upon it, and the orc was thrown off as the warg was trampled. 

The warg who had been kicked, seeing one its companions slain, backed away. But the other sprang up on Brego again, claws digging into the horse's flanks while the orc rider raised its sword. The horse screamed, and tried to escape, but the warg held fast.

Thenan, using only his legs to direct his horse, raised his own dagger and met the orc's sword as it came sweeping down. Then Éorlan succeeded in turning Brego so swiftly that the warg was dislodged, and he used his sword to slay the orc rider.

Thenan bent in the saddle to finish off the warg, but the beast lunged up, and seizing the Rider by the waist in its jaws, threw him down. Éorlan, without thinking, sprang from his saddle to aid his friend, and brought his sword down with such a powerful blow that the warg's head was severed. 

Éorlan, with a cry of anguish, fell down on his knees beside Thenan's bleeding body. The young Rider's face was ashen, and taut with pain. His useless arm lay limp by his side, and his chainmail had been rent by the warg's jaws. Blood covered his torso, and Éorlan knew without looking that it was from a deep gash in his stomach.

Suddenly another cry of grief was heard, and he looked up to see Éomer, bloody and wounded himself, riding towards them. The sister-son of Théoden jumped from his saddle and knelt beside Thenan.

"He is gravely wounded," he said tightly. "We must get him away from here."

The two men lifted Thenan up and placed him on Goldenwind. Brego stood nearby, trembling and unsteady, his entire rump and flanks covered with blood. Éorlan examined his horse quickly, and sorrowfully looked up at Éomer. Brego was too grievously wounded to live, and it would be nothing but cruelty to try to prolong his life.

Éomer gazed sadly at his friend, knowing how anguishing it was to be forced to put a beloved horse out of its misery. He turned away as Éorlan swiftly ended Brego's suffering, and then slowly climbed up onto Goldenwind's back.

They rode quickly, finding that most of the army was now pursuing Théodred and striving to cut him off before he reached the Plains. Putting aside their grief for now, they only allowed themselves to concentrate on joining Théodred. Several more Riders who had been left behind caught up and rode alongside Éomer and Éorlan, all with the same purpose in mind. Some had their wounded companions in front of them in the saddle, as well; some were in worse condition even than Thenan.

As if new strength had been given them, the horses fairly flew over the remaining distance between them and the Théodred. But the black army of Isengard had succeeded in cutting off the éored from the open Plains, and the wolfriders were again in among the Rohirrim, ahead of the Uruks and orcs that moved in eagerly.

Suddenly filled with a rush of excitement, Éomer raised his bloody sword to the sky, looking up as the sinking sun's light caught the sharp point of the blade, making it shine like a bright star. Heartened and encouraged by the sight, Éomer shouted, "Forth to battle, sons of Rohan! Up Eorlingas, for Théoden of the Riddermark! Forth, brave hearts, to battle!"

Joining in his cry, the straggling Riders joined the éored and entered the battle. Leaving Goldenwind and Thenan to Éorlan's care, Éomer leapt off his horse, brandishing his sword, and rushed into the battle on foot. Most Riders had done the same, and those with wounded were the only ones still on horseback. 

The wolfriders began to fall back, and the black Uruks moved in. Many of the Rohirrim were in back-to-back formations, creating small islands in the raging sea of Uruks. Éomer fought alone. He felt none of his injuries, but only a mad, overwhelming command to reach Théodred and aid him. Uruk after Uruk appeared to block his path, but as though given sudden strength, he overcame them with great blows of his sword, which he held with both hands. 

In the next five minutes, several things happened that pulled Éomer out of his trance. First, he caught sight of Théodred and followed his cousin as he climbed up a knoll. Théodred's great voice carried above the sounds of battle as he cried, "To me, Eorlingas! To me!" 

Before Éomer could reach the top of the knoll and his kinsman's side, three Uruks appeared in front of him, blocking his path. Now jerked out of his adrenaline reverie, Éomer was suddenly filled with cold terror as he saw more Uruks, with some orcs among them, swarming around the knoll like ants. He lost sight of his cousin at the top, and suddenly he knew the dark army's plan as clearly as though they had told it to him: their sole purpose was to slay the son of Théoden.

"_Théodred!" he fairly screamed, cleaving the helm of the first Uruk to block his path. Anguish and anger filled his heart and he again fought like a madman to get to his leader's side—but this time without the feeling of excitement and invincibility. _

Éomer was knocked to the ground but before the Uruk had time to so much as raise its sword, the Rider was up again and the Uruk beheaded. Almost as quickly, the next one was overcome, and the next, as he strained for a glance of Théodred.

The sun had set and light was fading, but Éomer knew the Rider who stepped beside him. "How do you fair, Éomer?" Grimbold shouted over the noise of battle.

"Never mind how I fair!" Éomer cried, running an orc through with his blade. "Hasten to Théodred's aid—there at the top of the knoll!"

Without hesitation, Grimbold raised his sword in double-handed grip and began to cleave through the mass of orcs blocking the way to his lord's aid with a new fury, and it was not long before Éomer lost sight of him in the darkening light. The younger Rider did not have the strength and brawn of Grimbold, and though he fought furiously, he could not reach the top of the knoll. But he had faith that Grimbold had, and kept his mind on the orcs and Uruks surrounding him.

Suddenly above the din of battle, a sound came that brought hope to the Riders' hearts, and terror to the orcs' and Uruks': the thunder of many horses across the Plains coming towards them. Éomer kept his elation back, wary of rejoicing too soon. 

But at Grimbold's shouted words, he did give a wordless cry of joy and felt his heart lift: "'Tis Elfhelm with four companies behind! Our aid has come!"

More shouts and cries of ecstasy and relief came from the Rohirrim, and the orcs began to fall back as the defense was redoubled. Within a few minutes, Elfhelm's host had reached them and the armies of Isengard began to flee. Éomer felt hope rekindled in his heart, and after overcoming the last Uruk that barred his way, he rushed as if he had wings to the top of the knoll—and then stopped short.

Grimbold fought with two axe-wielding Uruks over the still, bloody body of Théodred. Horror, anger, grief and even confusion flooded Éomer's mind at the sight, and he was frozen in place for a moment. But then he saw Elfhelm race to Grimbold's side and aid him against the Uruks, and he forced himself to move.

As the other two overcame the Uruks, Éomer knelt at his cousin's side. Even in the dim light, he could see that Théodred's face was pale and blood covered his body. The sounds of retreating orcs and Uruks, and the shouts of victorious Riders seemed distant as he dropped his sword and gently cradled Théodred's head in his lap.

Feeling numb, Éomer could not speak as Grimbold and Elfhelm joined him beside their captain. "He still breathes," exclaimed Elfhelm quietly, after a quick inspection. Éomer blinked; he had not even thought to check. All he could see was his cousin's white face in his lap, but now he counted each shallow, ragged breath he heard.

"We must move him," said Grimbold, looking up at Éomer sadly. "We cannot linger here, and no doubt a site is already being made for the wounded."

Mutely, Éomer nodded, but as Grimbold and Elfhelm stood and bent to lift Théodred, their leader groaned. They stopped immediately and laid him gently back down, his head still cradled in Éomer's lap. 

As Éomer bent over his cousin's face, Théodred's eyes slowly opened and blinked several times to focus. When they did, the corners of Théodred's mouth turned upwards in a slight smile and his grey lips parted. "Éomer," he whispered, his voice cracked.

Choking back a sob of relief, Éomer bent lower and caressed Théodred's pale cheek with one hand. "I am here," he assured his cousin, wishing that there was enough light to see Théodred's face more clearly. "Do not try to speak further. We will get you to the camp for the wounded and they will tend to you." In the dark, Éomer could not even see Théodred's wounds, but he could make out the dark, thick blood that covered his kinsman's torso.

"My dream…was true," murmured Théodred, ignoring Éomer's orders not to speak more. "This was my last orc hunt…and hope came too late." He fell silent for a moment as he struggled to get enough energy to continue. Éomer could not speak, but as he wiped away one of his tears that fell on Théodred's cheek, he felt something trickling out of the corner of his cousin's mouth and his fingers came away with something dark and sticky. He swallowed hard against the dizziness that assailed him and fought to control his tears for the sake of Théodred.

"My…doom…is here," Théodred continued, his voice hardly above a cracked whisper, "but you…Éomer…will fight on…until Hope comes."

"I cannot fight without you," Éomer whispered, finally finding his voice.

Théodredsmiled again and his eyes moved up to look into Éomer's. "You must…You must continue…to fight…Go back to…Éowyn…and my father…Lead the Rohirrim…" He trailed off, closing his eyes as he found himself to weary to continue.

Éomer nodded slowly out of respect, and bending, he kissed Théodred's forehead. "I will do as you say," he murmured as he watched his cousin's breaths become fainter, "out of my love and honor for you."

Théodred gave a small sigh and his faint smile lingered as he slowly raised one arm to clasp Éomer's hand. Éomer took his kinsman's hand in both of his and kissed it. He felt Théodred press his hands weakly and then he saw the son of Théoden's chest fall with one final breath, and become still. His hand in Éomer's went limp. 

A roaring sound filled Éomer's ears and he only dimly heard Grimbold and Elfhelm's weeping as he stared at Théodred's still face, looking peaceful and at rest in his lap. He hardly heard the sound of his own sobs, or his loud, anguished cry of "Théodred!"

****

**A/N: *sniff* I changed Théodred's last words from "Let me lie here—to keep the Fords til Éomer comes" for the obvious reason that in my story, Éomer is there already. I hope you'll forgive me for that deviation…and for killing Théodred in the first place. *sigh* Blame Tolkien for that.**


End file.
